


Miscalculations

by OurPanBashir



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Episode: s02e03 Alma Mater, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Malcolm Bright Whump, Missing Scene, No Beta We Die Like Nicholas Endicott, Protective Gil Arroyo, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurPanBashir/pseuds/OurPanBashir
Summary: A quick little missing scene one-shot for those of us missing our regular Bright!whump details this episode. Spoilers for the end of season 2 episode 3 (Alma Mater).What happened between Gil confronting Louisa, and telling Malcolm off at the precinct?
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 7
Kudos: 112





	Miscalculations

By now, Malcolm knew his team well enough to know he could rely on them to come to his aid on time, no matter what stunts he pulled. He wouldn’t call it profiling, just…calculated predictions.

One factor he hadn’t considered, when the plan to trigger the fire alarm came together in his mind, was their missing team member: JT. It was only when the fire suppression system kicked in, clouding his vision as Louisa walked away, that he realised his fatal error. Without the full team, his estimations were off. Sure, they had worked without Gil for months while he recovered in hospital, but Malcolm had come to rely on JT as much as Dani and his mentor.

The fire suppression system was clearly as expensive as the rest of the academy: in the time between mere breaths, the air had become noticeably harder to breathe. Malcolm dropped to his knees almost instantly, gasping desperately. He cast a glance back to Delaney, unconscious and blissfully unaware of their current predicament. A wave of regret washed over him. Because of this man, a man he had looked up to in such a difficult time in his life, his last conversation with his father had been a malicious one.

That thought sparked something in Malcolm. Determined, he turned around and slammed his fists against the glass. Once, twice, and then a third time before he let his body drop to the floor, gulping in air fruitlessly.

Darkness began to bleed in at the edges of his vision as he stared out at the door Louisa had left through. It was too late. His team wouldn’t find him in time. He would never get to apologise to his father, never see his mother or sister again.

—

Outside, Gil sensed that Louisa was hiding something. Her insistence that the fire was simply an unrelated senior prank felt off somehow. Not that he wouldn’t put it past the students to pull something like that, after the murder of their headmaster, quite the opposite. No, it was the look in her eyes, that flash of panic from someone not quite old enough to bluff effectively under pressure. Gil had seen that same expression in Malcolm time and again, at this age.

“Dani, take Louisa. You two, you’re with me.” Gil beckoned to the Westchester county officers behind him, already heading to the building Louisa had just come from. “Now!”

They followed the alarm bells through the library and into the archive behind it, wincing at the volume as they entered. The glass-walled room in the centre, once completely transparent, was almost completely opaque, filled with a cloud of white gas. Gil was about to roll his eyes, thinking this truly was just a prank, when he noticed the shape of a figure curled on the floor by the door to the vault. He crossed the room in quick strides, eyes widening when he realised the figure was Malcolm.

“Dammit, Bright.” He muttered, trying the handle of the vault in vain as he glanced at the panel beside the door. No time to figure out the passcode, no time to find someone that might know it.

“We need to break this glass, _now_.” Gil barked at the officers, who were stood, frozen, a few feet away. “We’ve got someone in there!”

One of the officers darted out of the room, the other calling over his radio for an ambulance. Before Gil knew what was happening, the first officer was charging towards him, fire extinguisher in hand. Using the metal canister as a make-shift battering ram, he smashed through the glass and dove for Malcolm, grabbing him and dragging him out of the now dissipating cloud.

Gil covered his mouth with his sleeve and squinted through the fog, spotting Delaney. “Over there!” He shouted over the ringing bells, pointing towards Delaney, before turning his attention to Malcolm.

“Bright? Can you hear me?” No response. Gil dropped his ear to Malcolm’s face, hoping to hear him breathing, but it was no use while the sirens continued to wail around them. He glanced up in time to see one officer drag out Delaney, similarly unconscious, as the other ran over with a first aid bag the size of a gym kit. Of course, Remington Academy, with its high calibre student body, had a medical supply, complete with oxygen tanks and masks, to match.

Moments after the oxygen mask touched his face, forcing air into his lungs, Malcolm gasped back into consciousness. He grabbed the mask and held it in place, as if afraid someone would take it away from him.

“Glad to see you back with us, kid.” Malcolm blinked hard until his vision came back into focus, and found himself staring up at Gil. He was smiling, but Malcolm could see the lingering panic in his expression. That was all Gil managed to say to him, however, before the paramedics were rushing in, insisting on checking Malcolm over.

Gil retreated at their request, giving them space to work. Malcolm’s telling-off could wait until the medics were done with him. He was just glad his kid was still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> A year and a half since I last posted a fic and of course, it's a whumpy missing scene. This show is my lifeblood rn so I knew I wouldn't get anything done before I got this out of my head. Let me know if you have any requests for more things Prodigal Son or otherwise, I should probably try and flex my writing muscles a bit more often.


End file.
